


Wildebeest

by anniesburg



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Arthur Morgan Getting the Love He Deserves, Cliche, F/M, Fluff and Smut, High Honor!Arthur, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Miniseries, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Shooting lessons, Water Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-25 18:56:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17730734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniesburg/pseuds/anniesburg
Summary: It turns out that all wounded creatures behave in a similar manner and can in a similar manner be healed. Time and kindness can fix a great many things.





	1. Foreign Hands

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this is probably going to be three chapters?? roughly, give-or-take and it's basically every cliche about arthur falling in love that exists because i'm weak. anyway, enjoy!!

The great tamers of horses all have a strategy that comes as natural as breathing. Very few recognize it when employed but its results are nothing short of miracles. 

For all you know Arthur Morgan’s done this a thousand times with a whole manner of pained, angry animals. Still, he does not know it by sight and for that you are very grateful. 

“That man in the saloon,” you begin, “the one who’s probably got a broken jaw, now?” You phrase it like a question to get a response. Arthur grunts. “He scared me so bad, really. But I ain’t any more. I don’t think I got any reason to be afraid when I got someone like you around. Thank you.” 

A little wordy, but it gets the job done. You dip your head in his direction, a non-physical show of affection accompanied by a little smile. It’s the hook, you watch the way his face softens. 

And then, despite all that’s in you telling you to stay and reach out, you turn. You walk away. 

There is very little difference to be found in creatures that hurt deeply. Arthur, as far as you can tell, hurts worse than anybody you’ve ever known. Your boots make a soft noise on the grass that’s beaded with dew, you hope that this works as well with men as it does with beasts. 

Because the great horse tamers have a secret. Be gentle and then make yourself scarce. After a while---

“Hey, hey--- uh, Miss---” you hear him call out to you after you’re a few paces away. Slowly, you look at him. He’s stood up already, walking after you. 

The wild horse will follow. 

Arthur keeps everything respectable, he stands close enough to keep the conversation private without implying anything too forward. Grimshaw and Pearson trudge through their early morning preparations but otherwise you are alone with him. He looks gruff, nervously trying to order his words into an offer. 

“You know how to shoot, Miss?” He asks you. You shake your head. 

“No. I know my way around a knife but it’s not quite the same.” Your smile widens a little bit as Arthur nods in agreement. 

“Not quite, not when--- well, you know. S’always gonna be bad folk around, I could teach you how.” He sounds very casual about the offer, but you know he’s steeling his nerve should you decline. 

Your surprise is very natural. You hadn’t expected him to ask so soon, if at all but your smile is bright all the same. 

“Why, I would love to learn how. Can’t imagine I’ll be a quick study, though.” Arthur seems happy to hear it and shakes his head. 

“Don’t matter none to me. When you want teachin’?” You shrug, trying to emulate that seemingly indifferent appearance while readying yourself for when he says no. 

“I’m free right now, right up until Pearson needs me to start help with dinner around ten o’clock. Other than that---” Arthur cuts you off with an expression that could be described as warm. 

“No, no, I understand. We’re all kept busy ‘round here. Now’s fine, I’ll show you the basics.” From his belt he pulls and pistol and holds it out to you. “Safety’s on, don’t worry. Hold it, keep it in your belt and get a feel for the weight. I’ll grab a couple bottles’n we can head outside of camp.” 

“All right,” you say, taking the gun. It’s a beautiful thing, really. The wooden handle’s been polished until it shines, the barrel’s cleaner than fresh-washed dishes. It feels quite heavy for its size and you carefully tuck it into your belt. 

Trotting after Arthur, you take a gin bottle from him and follow him out of earshot of camp. 

He strays closer to you out here, no wandering eyes discourage behaviour that could be seen as improper. His shoulder bumps against yours as you walk, your fingers skim the back of his hand. 

“Lovely morning,” he says, nodding at the sea-blue sky above your heads. You don’t look away from him. 

“Mhm. It’s been getting so hot lately, though, I’m half-tempted to jump in the lake.” You beam at him and he, after a pause, smiles back. It’s a heavenly sight. 

“Bigger than the river, I guess,” Arthur concedes and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence until you reach the rock formation.

A jutting line of stones not too far from camp look like the perfect shelf for the glass bottles. Arthur sets up two and you set the one you’re carrying next to them. 

“How far back should I stand?” You ask, not yet sure if now’s the right time to get your gun. 

Maybe it’s the removal from prying eyes, but you’re stunned that Arthur breaks the touch barrier on purpose this time. He takes your wrist in his rough, gentle grip and pulls you back maybe ten paces from the makeshift shooting range. 

“About here. Don’t wanna get too close, but you’re just startin’ out so It ain’t fair to get you real far away.” You nod. 

“In practice, though, the people I want to shoot won’t sit still like bottles,” you reason. Arthur’s hand drops away from your wrist and you’re again surprised by his throaty laugh. 

“No, reckon not. But you gotta start somewhere.” You can understand that, at least. You pull the gun from your belt, turning it over in your hands. 

“You’re just about the only man I know who’s not gunning to patronize me,” you tell him, picking the pistol up with your dominant hand and holding it out towards the bottles. 

“Careful, now,” he says and you lower it. “that can’t be true. I’m sure Javier or Charles ain’t---” you shrug. 

“They ignore me.” Is your simple reply. It isn’t something to be argued against, it’s the truth and he acknowledges that. “You don’t. And I appreciate that you’ll help me learn this stuff so late, with none of the extra bullshit about hoping I won’t need to know.” 

“You do need to know,” Arthur admits, taking another pistol from his belt of nearly the same make as yours. “you ought’a have the tools to save your own life.” 

“How comforting,” you tell him and that serious look on your face evaporates. He looks happy to see it go. 

“Here, stand like this. Keep your feet apart.” Arthur circles around in front of you, putting his hands on your shoulders this time and angling you in a way that favours your right side. His boot nudges at the inside of your ankle, telling you to stand with your feet further apart. 

He looks up at you like he forgot that these things usually come with the precursor of permission to do so, but you’re beaming. 

“So I stand just like this?” You ask, not moving. He nods. 

“Right, just like that. But not--- not so stiff, Miss, relax your shoulders.” You do as you’re told, forcing yourself to loosen up. Now, he makes a grab for the gun and your hand along with it. 

“You don’t wanna hold it with just one hand,” he tells you, “not yet, anyway. The recoil on this one ain’t so bad but when you’re new you really feel the kick. Here---” 

He cuts himself off again, standing out of the way of the barrel of the gun while adjusting your grip. You end up with the non-index fingers on both your hands wrapped around the handle, your index finger on the trigger. 

“Don’t pull it,” Arthur tells you, “just get used to how that feels.” 

You’ve kept your gaze resolutely on the gin bottles sitting at the top of the rock line. Mostly, it’s for his benefit as you’d hate to scare him off so soon after he’s decided he likes you. But for a moment, just a moment your eyes are drawn to his. 

“You wanna shoot somethin’?” He asks you, your nod is nothing short of enthusiastic. “All right, use your thumb to turn the safety off and aim down barrel at your target.” 

Stiffly, you nod. Arthur stands behind you, out of harm’s way as you click off the safety. A deep breath later and the gun goes off with a bang and a kick that startles you. 

There’s no sound to accompany the firing of the bullet, you missed the bottle. 

“Not bad for a first try,” Arthur encourages. “your form’s good, that’ll keep you from gettin’ hurt while you’re tryin’ to do the hurtin’.” Demurely, you smile at him before pointing the gun at the ground, you hand it to him and his face falls. 

“I ain’t giving up, Mister Morgan. I just want to see how it’s done. Will you?” He nods, motioning for you to stand back. 

He raises the gun with one hand and with a similarly loud bang, the gin bottle to the left explodes with a shattering sound. You can’t help but smile.

“Well, you are the gunslinger,” you say with an air of bowing to expertise. Arthur shakes his head. 

“Not a gunslinger,” he tells you, handing the gun back. He removes his hat, revealing brown hair cropped close to his scalp. But it looks different, you note, parted in the middle and slicked back. He looks like a man in a Gibson illustration and only a bit scruffier. “just had practice.” 

“Maybe that’s all it takes,” you offer up with a grin, stepping around him again. Lifting the pistol and pointing it at the gin bottle in the middle a way’s away on the rock, you resolve to try again. 

“Could be. You wanna be a gunslinger?” He asks. “Lonely life, I’ve met a couple.” You shake your head. 

“Just don’t want to be scared ever again. And I want to pull my weight, that means no education’s wasted.” You’re still not used to the recoil, you fire the gun and hear the bullet ricochet off the edge of the glass. You feel Arthur’s hand on your shoulder. 

“Gettin’ close,” he encourages. 

“Not close enough. Like I said, I’m better with a knife.” You admit, Arthur gives a shrug and his arm falls back to his side. 

“Practice don’t always make perfect, but it helps. Just ‘cause you ain’t the best yet---” you cut him off with a decisive smile, pointing the end of the gun at the ground to show that you listened to his safety lesson. 

“I know, I’ll keep at it when I get some time away from the holy terror.” To your delight, Arthur snorts in amusement. 

“You girls really don’t like Miss Grimshaw,” he says. 

“Maybe that’s because we have to stay at camp with her all day. Drives me crazy, she does. But this is nice, sometimes it’s good to get away.” Arthur doesn’t say anything in response, but you can feel the way the tension takes root in him. He has no idea how to respond so you spare him by firing another round. 

The kick-back’s not so bad, you keep your grip strong without white-knuckling the handle. The sum of two practice rounds is the middle bottle shattering just like one Arthur shot. 

“Hey, would you look at that,” Arthur starts up. His hand’s back on your shoulder. You lower the gun again, clicking the safety on and turning to him with a wide smile. 

“I did it.” You state with so much pride in your eyes. Arthur echoes it, at first, but you can see the way his enthusiasm dies soon enough. 

“Sure did,” he replies, “it ain’t that hard. Practice’ll help with your aim but you already got a solid stance.” 

“Right,” you say, turning just briefly to the last bottle and then to the sun in the sky. 

This whole situation’s been an extended horse-taming trick, you’re sure. You’ve been kind with him, handled him with care and spoken gently. Now it’s time to go again, as much as you’d like to stay. He doesn’t understand being crowded and you can see the frustration he has with his own emotions just behind his eyes. 

“I should be getting back now, Mister Morgan,” you say. Your voice is still silk-soft, as is your smile. “but thank you for teaching me so much already. Shall we return?” 

He nods, waiting until you’re out of the way again to click the safety and shatter the last bottle. Arthur turns and tucks the pistol in his belt before walking back to camp with you. Your fingers stray nowhere near his hand and your shoulders keep to themselves.


	2. Here There Be Monsters

It’s a few days before Arthur’s back in camp again. The constant back-and-forth between the hunt and people who need to eat wears on him, but he imagines that this rest period is earned. 

Nevertheless, Miss Grimshaw’s wandering glare pierces his back. She’s a formidable woman, but he steers clear in the hopes that she’ll mention neither this brief respite nor a certain woman who’s taken the name Linton. 

But her hands are too full to chase after Arthur with concerns that are almost motherly. She’s aware that he’s no layabout. 

The girl, the one who needs taught how to shoot isn’t with her, though. Nor is she with Mary-Beth or Karen folding the washing. Arthur has to wonder if he’s left the hunt at all, reminded in some ways of the movements of a spooked whitetail deer. 

Tilly gives him an answer more than a shrug and a noise that tells him she doesn’t know. 

“With Pearson, last I saw. She’s been takin’ on more of the cook-work now that Sadie’s gettin’ restless,” she says and Arthur nods in thanks. He leaves the women to their work that makes life livable for the rest of the camp. 

It’s impossible not to know where Pearson’s at, thank goodness. The man’s huffing and puffing over roaring coals, taking it upon himself to prepare the wild game for today’s dinner. 

The vegetables and a familiar hunting knife, however, lie abandoned on a separate work station. Arthur’s brow furrows.

“You know where the girl’s got to, Pearson?” He asks. He has your pistol at the ready in his belt. The cook gives a one shoulder shrug and brings a meat cleaver down onto the neck of an unfortunate rabbit. 

“Said something about jumping right in the lake. All the complaining about the heat from the cook-fire was starting to get on my nerves. She just wandered off towards the shore.” Arthur grunts in thanks but says no more, turning away from the prep station and heading in the disclosed direction. 

The lake looks like dark blue glass, still with the sun glinting off its surface. Arthur slides down rocks and steps over logs, keeping one hand on the holster with the pistol he’s decided now belongs to you. 

It’s ridiculous, absurdly sentimental to think you’ve laid a claim on anything that belongs to him. But shooting makes you happy, any fool could see that. And seeing you happy---

He stops when he hears a splashing sound not far from where he’s walking. Arthur keeps on and soon finds an area of the lakeshore scattered with more than pebbles and twigs. 

Your boots, blouse, skirt and belt have been thrown haphazardly. He doesn’t like the way his mind interprets this information with a vivid picture of you tearing at your clothes. You look happy in his head. 

And you look happy here, too, he soon finds when he looks out at the water. You’re up to your neck, pretty far out. The source of the splashes appears to be your graceless backstroke which persists for a few more feet before you lose interest. 

Your head disappears under the water, popping back up closer. 

“Mister Morgan!” You exclaim, clearly having laid eyes on him standing ashore. He puts his hands on his waist and hollers back a greeting. “I was just about dying at camp, thought my skin was going to melt off! Would you like to join me?” 

“I’m fine where I am, Miss,” he assures you. “Want me to go get Miss Jones or somethin’? Wouldn’t want you drownin’ out here all by yourself.” 

“No, thank you,” you call back, sounding for all the world like you’re having the best time. It makes his chest ache. “I think I’ll come back in, now.” 

Arthur makes a sound of approval and watches as your distant form becomes marginally less distant by the minute. It doesn’t occur to him to turn his back, not until the water’s only up to your hips. 

You’re in a chemise that, he realizes with a tightening in his throat and his trousers, does not leave much to the imagination when soaking wet. And you don’t seem to realize this. Your smile stays, warm as the southern sun above. But his insides are ice, Arthur shuts his eyes tight and turns quick as anything. 

“I guess I’ll head back up to camp, come see me---” he starts, only to be cut off by the feeling of a water-cold hand on his back. 

You were surprised to see him, sure, but the shock’s moulded itself into an opportunity. He’s coming now without you having to call or seek him out, you’re sure there’s no coincidence in that.

Now’s not the time to walk or let him walk. You’ve opened the door, now to convince him to come inside. 

“Mister Morgan, were you going to ask me to try target practice again?” You ask. Arthur stops dead, near-flinches when you touch him so deliberately. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. He’s still not looking. “like I said, come find me.” 

“Won’t take me a minute to dry off and get dressed, why don’t you---” now he cuts you off, walking away from your palm to his lower back. 

“With respect, no. I’ll be up at camp, you head up when you’re ready.” He’s insistent, firm but not mean about it. He feels guilty, you suppose, for intruding on something. 

The fact that he wouldn’t mind staying is what forces him to go. You’d understand, likely, that the bulge in his pants isn’t a purposeful insult. But the thought of you recoiling, or worse, laughing makes his face go red. So Arthur puts distance between himself and the problem, starting up the trail towards the tents at double-pace. 

He wonders if he can snatch a couple moments to take care of the problem, because his mind’s seen fit to warp what he saw into a thousand scenarios and appreciations involving your naked body. Eyefuls of the other girls made him stiff sometimes, but he’s never been attacked so viciously by his own desire. 

Arthur pictures you standing at the edge of the lake, like Andromeda from that old myth he read when he was young. But there’s no sea monster, the chains are wrapped around his wrists and his ankles. You reach out to him with that soft smile that puts his insides through a meat grinder, he has no choice but to stumble forward. 

The road back up’s clear as day, but the sight of you persists. You’re not Andromeda in the water, the vision shifts to speculative fiction. He thinks about you stretched out on the shore, drying your chemise in the sun. 

He can almost taste the lake water on your skin, it’s too vivid. You grin up at him with that same, bewitching quality. You want to take him in the dirt and the sand, he’s ready to be held and had. 

This is lunacy, the dazed look in Arthur’s eye is forcibly pushed aside as he passes by Hosea. The man offers a hello that goes unreciprocated as he meanders towards the water with a fishing pole. 

Arthur beelines for the table in the centre of camp, sitting down and waiting for any physical manifestations of his imagination to make themselves scarce. He takes out your gun and sets to work cleaning it. 

It should not be so intimate a process. 

You’ve held this gun once, why is he thinking about the inevitability of the way you’ll hold it again? His brain feels like it’s taken a hit in a lightning storm, like it’s been forced into a jar and shaken until all the sense has left it. 

He leans against the table, just looking at the gun and waiting to hear the sound of your voice. Eventually, it comes. 

“Arthur?” You say. The question in your voice is just as much asking where he is as it is asking if you can use his first name. 

“Just here,” he replies, loud enough for you to catch sight of him. 

You’re decent, now in your blouse and skirt. But your hair is loose and wet, a remnant of the way you looked in the water. He has to restrain himself from imagining any further. 

“I think I took in too much sun,” you say with a lighthearted air. You brush your hair back behind your ear. “maybe we could go shooting some other time?” 

Suits him fine, Arthur grunts as he’s wont to do. The thought of being in a field alone with you when he has so much to think on causes him undue distress. Your face falls just a little at his all-too-ready acceptance. That just won’t do. 

“Feel better, Miss,” he says as you walk by him. He turns, catching your wrist. You stop like you’re waiting for him to say something else. Nothing comes. 

After a pause, you smile again. It’s like spring melting snow, like fireworks on fourth of July. You nod. 

“I think I’ll get some rest before helping with supper. Will you be here for it?” Arthur seems to give it thought. Meat’s getting low again. 

“Gonna hunt for a few hours but I should be in just before dark.” He assures you. 

“In time for supper?” You clarify, sounding hopeful and not at all like the man just intruded on your privacy. That gives him hope, too. 

“In time for supper.” He echoes and that smile of yours grows. Once again, it proves contagious, he grins back up at you.


	3. A Way Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short buffer chapter until we get to the spicy stuff.

True to his word, Arthur rides back into camp with a deer slung over his horse and more than enough pelts to reinforce the older blankets. It’s after dark, after everyone’s already eaten and gone about their way. 

You watch him from the sweltering heat of the cook-station, gauging the best opportunity to start forward. He’s a tricky one, Arthur Morgan, and the sight of you earlier today gave him something worse than a fright. 

Perhaps you were hoping for it, though. The fact that he ran implies something like respect, doesn’t it? You can live with that. 

“Arthur?” You call out and he doesn’t have to turn. He was already faced in your direction, approaching like one would a fox. But he’s faster after you address him, like you found a magic word. 

“Hello there,” he greets, looking you up and down. You must be a sight after a whole day of meal prepping and sweating through three blouses. Still, you can’t help but read something into his gaze, a hunger for something other than deer meat stew and whisky. 

You have to wonder if he’s thinking about you wearing something else, with soaking wet hair. 

“Thank you for keeping your promise,” you tell him.

“Sure, but I see supper’s already done.” Your grin comes on strong and fast, you turn and produce a bowl of stew like it came from nothing. He takes it when you set it on the counter. 

“Can’t have you going hungry, Mister Morgan,” you say with that familiar concern. He shakes his head. 

“No chance of that, really. But thank you, Miss.” He starts to wander off with his bowl. Pearson’s already cleared out and enough of the washing’s done to avoid a talking-to. You set out after Arthur with purpose and fall in step beside him. 

When you touch him, it isn’t framed as some accidental brush. You put your hand on his shoulder, eyes going wide. 

“Mister Arthur,” you say with far less gusto than the greeting. He doesn’t stop and neither do you, but he does look at you. “you’re cold. Why don’t you come sit by the fire? You can tell me about everything you got up to today, I’d love to hear about it.” 

He looks apprehensive, like you’ve interrupted his plans to scarf down his supper and fall right asleep. You feel bad about it, in a way but now’s not the time to let him slip through your fingers. 

“All right,” he says after a pause. “I’ve never been anywhere that gets so hot durin’ the day and so cold at night.” He tells you, you nod enthusiastically. 

“Mhm, I end up shivering until the sun rises,” your voice has a teasing tone to it, one that makes one corner of his mouth tug up into a smile. 

“Hopefully some of the pelts I brought back’ll help with that.” He says. It is a testament to your strength that you refrain from commenting about how a big man like him could keep you warm.

“Yes, hopefully.” You sit on a log by the fire and he takes the spot next to you. It’s lovely over here, you soak up the ambient heat and try not to read too much into the fact that his thigh is pressed to yours. 

“I just---” he starts up, turning his eyes towards you with a force. You wonder how long Arthur’s been holding in whatever he wants to say to you now. “just wanted to say I’m sorry for--- well, you know--- at the lake---”

“Sorry?” You ask, now’s as good a time as any to slowly change the mood. He likes you, you can tell. And you like him, too. “Only thing you have to be sorry for, Arthur, is not joining me.” 

“You kiddin’ me?” He’s quick to retort. His stew sits uneaten in his lap but this development in conversation is clearly monopolizing his interest. You shake your head. 

“No, I’m not. I don’t really feel like you intruded on anything that I didn’t want you to see---” it’s a bold statement, but from what you’ve learned here there’s no reward if there’s no risk. Arthur looks down at his lap. 

“Shit,” he mumbles, you straight at his side. 

“And don’t you ask if I mean that or if I’m kidding you.” You continue. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

“I know that,” Arthur starts up again, “didn’t mean nothin’ by it. S’just hard to wrap the mind around.” 

“Doesn’t seem too hard to me,” you say, but your voice is decidedly less snappy. You don’t want to give him grief or push him away. You want to give him all that he denies himself. 

“Yeah, it is on account’a---” you cut him off with a confused look. 

“On account of what, Arthur Morgan?” He shakes his head. 

“You ‘member when I said that there’ll always be bad folk around? I could be included in that.” It’s a miracle you let him finish, but your scoff’s the loudest protest you’ve made thus far. 

“Arthur, you might want to be evil but I swear you’re not. You might want to be nothing but cruel and heartless but that’s now who you are.” He doesn’t like being disagreed with on this part. Everyone’s too soft on him, in his opinion.

“You don’t know me.” Is his halfhearted, gruff response. 

“Yeah, but you’re just about the only man here who’s letting me try to know him.” Your insistence seems to throw him for a loop, Arthur goes quiet. Gently, you nudge your elbow against his ribs. “I’m not blind and I’m surely not stupid, Arthur.”

“I know you ain’t,” he sounds annoyed with himself, still not looking at you. 

“You interested in me?” Your voice dips again, although it looks like everyone in camp’s gone their separate ways. 

Any reservations Arthur Morgan has about looking you in the eye go right out the window. His head snaps around to yours. 

“Man’d have to be blind not to be,” he says with the same urgency as you and at half the volume. Your chest goes very tight. 

“Well, you know I’m interested in you, too,” you decide to spell it out just in case. He’s smarter than he lets on and a lot more observant. Arthur rolls his shoulders. “and if you want to make it up to me---” 

You cut yourself off, leaning forward towards him on the log. Hesitantly, you kiss his stubbled cheek. 

“Then finish up your supper and meet me down by the lake. Don’t keep me waiting.” You rise after that, stepping over the log and walking once more in the direction of the shoreline. 

Arthur stares after you.


	4. All Directions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i lied to you all, i'm sorry.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, picking at his stew and doing exactly what you told him not to. Arthur feels a lead weight in his stomach, like he’s eaten bullets instead of game. 

His thoughts turn to you by the water in the moonlight, an inviting sight for certain. He thinks about you, cold and wondering where that good man’s gone to. It’s your first mistake, but it’s a common one, imagining him to be better than he is. 

People see what they want. 

He stands up from the log and drops the bowl and fork into the wash bucket. Arthur figures it’s best to go down to the lakeshore and tell you in person that he’s not interested. It’ll sting, he knows, but at least you won’t be left embarrassed and rejected. 

Shrugging off his coat and folding it over his arm, he walks in the direction of the moonlight glinting off gentle waves. He vividly remembers doing this with a whole lot more innocence on the brain. 

He feels dirty, intimately aware that he has more than deer blood on his hands. Sometimes the hunt doesn’t limit itself to animals. Arthur can’t help but wonder why a deer would ask a coyote to follow it. 

There’s something still in the air, he hears your words in the back of his mind. You tried to assure him, to promise him something at the end of this trail. He’ll see to it that no deliverance comes, Arthur’s been a regret before--- never again. 

Your clothes aren’t scattered this time, they sit demurely on a hollow log. You took the time to fold each item and set them out, it seems and he has to wonder if you’re aware of how enticing it is. The idea of you out here tastes less bitter all of a sudden. 

He knows where to find you, a way’s out in the lake and splashing quietly. You spot him when he sees you, evidently, because you’re standing with your shoulders visible after too long. 

You’re all wet again, coming closer without him having to call out. In the moonlight, there’s even less to hide, he notes. Your wet chemise hugs your hips and waist, the outline of your breasts looks especially clear. Arthur readies his coat, intending to pass it off to you the second you get too close. He’ll explain why this isn’t right in a way that you cannot refute. 

But the words he has ready, the prepared sentences leave his head when you reach the same spot as before. This time, it’s not the revelation of your wet clothes offering the impression of your naked body. No, the moonlight casts its glow on your bare skin. Arthur drops his eyes to the log, to your chemise folded carefully atop your blouse. 

“Good Christ,” he mumbles, but it’s loud enough for you to hear as you approach the shore.

“I know that tone,” you say with an air of disappointment. “you can’t be left alone for a second, huh, Arthur?” It’s a rhetorical question. 

Now you look like Andromeda proper, he remembers that the myth specified she was naked. All he wonders in the long moment between your taunts and his response is if you know that he’s the sea monster. 

“You talked yourself out of this already?” You continue, your hands on your hips without a shred of indecency befitting a woman fully nude in front of a man. He can’t help the way his body reacts. 

He’s not scared of you, not scared of girls in general. But he’s thought kindly of those who put ideas in his head. You’re the second-worst example of that he’s ever known. 

“Would you get over here?” Arthur asks, he hates that it’s more of a question than a command. But, surprisingly, it works. 

You stalk towards him, your feet covered in silt from the lakebed. You stand closer to him than you ever have before, your wet chest to his leather vest and an expectant look on your face. He drops the blue-wool coat around your shoulders. 

But when he moves to step away, you grab on to his shirt. 

“Arthur,” you say, “kiss me.” 

And he wants to, real bad. You can see it in his eyes, there isn’t any hiding it. Trying to be encouraging hasn’t failed before, you let your eyes close. 

His lips are warm, dry but warm. He kisses you like like tide, gentle at first but with the ability to drown. Your hands release the fabric of his shirt, you pull him closer and wrap your arms around his neck. 

Arthur’s tugged towards you and he lets himself be guided. You feel hands on your waist, a sure grip that tells you he’s made his choice. For now, he’ll let himself have this. 

Your teeth nip his lower lip, Arthur opens his mouth and it’s everything in you not to smile and ruin it all. Your fingers dig into his skin, urging him ever-nearer to you even when it’s physically impossible to be. 

All of him is warm, you realize. His body is heat and muscle against yours that’s lake-cold. He seems to understand this same as you, his bare hands on your bare skin are greedy. You’d have it no other way. 

His jacket slips off your shoulders but you feel no less protected. With a sigh, you break the kiss and open your eyes. 

Arthur looks conflicted, as you expect. Whatever he’s trying to talk himself out of, you have no interest in hearing it. Instead, you begin to unbutton his red-leather vest. 

“What’re you doin’?” He asks, his voice is gruff but not accusatory. It sounds nearly playful, you almost can’t believe it. 

“Don’t you want to go for a swim with me? The water’s nice.” It’s phrased as a question, but you already know his answer. He lets you undress him. 

At some point, he shifts and takes his hands from your waist, helping to unbuckle his belt and holsters. They’re tossed near your clothes with a finesse similar to what you had earlier today. Desperation mounts the longer Arthur has to look at you. 

He’s uncertain of a fair amount, it scares him terribly, but he’s quite sure you’re very beautiful. 

And soft, he doesn’t know how to tell you how soft you are without sounding terrifying. But the way his hands return to your hips, your waist, your back clues you in that he’s appreciative. 

His body is a roadmap, you feel like a cartographer rediscovering a land both well-hurt and well-loved. He has scars, scrapes, recent bruising on his ribs. But he’s handsome, more than just handsome, built to survive. 

“Oh,” you mumble as you unbutton his shirt, pausing from that endeavour to touch his skin and he’s already done yours. 

“S’that good, or---” he cuts himself off, studying your expression. To make it a touch more clear, you beam at him. 

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” His laugh could touch the tops of the trees, it’s the loudest sound made so far. 

“Could say the same about you.” He replies. You’re grateful he doesn’t try to deny an objective truth.

And you accuse him of being greedy when you’re so quick to catch up. You dip your head, putting your lips to a long scar just under his collarbone. It looks like it was deep, that it hurt terribly but the noise he makes is worth the risk of touching somewhere so intimate. 

You keep your explorations of his physical flaws brief, electing instead to adequately adore his collarbone with three well-placed kisses. His hands still, his trousers half unbuttoned and Arthur grabs at you again. He holds you to him, tighter than before. 

But he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t need to. When you’re ready to proceed, you return to ridding him of his shirt. You mark that territory as in need of greater exploration in the future. 

Arthur seems to snap out of it as well, shucking his pants. Clearly, he’s won over by this whole intimacy thing. How perfect. 

You’re not certain if you should be sorry for pushing this vulnerability on him. He seems out of his element, entirely willing but still restricted even without clothes. Your fingers entwine with Arthur’s and you begin to pull him back towards the lake. 

He’ll have to trust in his family to keep him safe, and you know that he can. If there’s a threat, some intruder come to do harm they’ll hear it. For now, you guide Arthur into the water, his skin against yours.


	5. Flux

Water’s not that warm, he notes, but he’s happy to be lake-cold so long as it’s with you. 

He’s aware of how he got pulled into this and of how it involved some literal pulling but it’s still a blur of fabric and fingertips. You touch him with a reverence that he finds wholly unnatural, but he hopes to God that you don’t stop any time soon. 

You’re something to look at, that’s for sure. Beautiful and not about to refute that knowledge, which he finds very agreeable. He waits until the water’s waist high before acting on any carnal impulses. 

Arthur puts his hands on your chest, struggling not to apologize for how rough his palms are. He knows what you’d tell him, anyway, that he works hard to keep everyone else alive. You’re kind like that. 

“Has it been a while?” You ask in a tone that makes him melt even in the cool lake. It’s not even the sultriness that gets him, it’s the playful adoration. It repeats something unsaid that gets him feeling very warm, indeed. You like him, you like him, you like him. 

“That obvious?” He answers your question with another question. You look up at him from your own appraisal of his body, he regrets saying anything. 

“I meant no offence, Arthur.” You say, but somehow that adoration persists despite the obvious worry. He shakes his head. 

“Nah, nah, just kiddin’ around. Besides, you’re right. It’s been a long while.” 

“Been a while for me, too,” you reply and that face of concern melts back into curiosity. You brush your thumb along his collarbone, making Arthur stiffen in more ways than one. “easy, now. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“Think you could?” He asks, smirking at you in the dark. You smile back and keep smiling, that is, until his hand lowers to your breast. Your breath hitches and it’s music to his ears. 

“Oh, yeah,” you leave his upper body, your hands touching hard muscle underneath rough skin. Arthur’s built like a brick shithouse, no denying it. He feels firm and rock solid, a shiver runs up your spine that has nothing to do with the temperature of the water. 

He could rip you in half and you’d be hard-pressed to deny him the opportunity.

“Can I kiss you again?” He asks, polite but never to a fault. And Arthur likes to think he’s no gentleman, what a laugh. Happily, you nod. 

You could get used to this, to him asking and giving in quick succession. Tilting your head, his lips are on yours and all is right with the world. Blackwater’s behind you, along with the mountains and the dusty shotgun town that was Valentine. The whole world is ahead and it doesn’t seem half so terrifying. 

Pardoning the quiet teasing exchanges, the two of you have been mostly quiet. That may have persisted but Arthur takes it upon himself to be more bold with his explorations, his thumb circles around your nipple and it makes you swoon in a most noticeable way. You lean into his hand, moaning into his mouth. 

Your arms loop around his neck again, seeking stability that he provides. Arthur seems fixated on your chest, occupying it with both his hands and leaving nary an inch of skin untouched. 

“You’re very bold,” you tell him, breaking the kiss for air. He makes you forget to breathe, it’s as beautiful a thought as it is terrifying. 

“Says the girl swimmin’ naked in the lake.” You feel included in something bigger when he jokes with you, a secret club for another side of him. Even if you’re of the opinion that every side belonging to Arthur Morgan is lovely, it’s nice to know him like this. 

“Had to be, you never would’ve looked twice otherwise.” He seems near-offended by the accusation, even if you didn’t mean it as such. 

“Sure, I would’ve. Didn’t I tell you already?” Arthur moves quicker than you would’ve expected given his earlier hesitations. He dips his head and his teeth at your neck feel like heaven above. “Gotta be blind to overlook you.” 

“Yes,” you say, breathless again but not for lack of breathing. He’s chased all the air from your lungs, damn nim. “you did mention that.” 

He tugs you against him all over again, his chest to yours with a persistent gentleness. It would surprise you if you didn’t know better. 

There’s another scar on his back. Your palm covers it, your cheek to the side of his head as he sets about biting at a pulse point. You tilt your head to accommodate him.

It’s embarrassing, the way he’s made you forget your initial goals. Exploring him is just as exciting, rough skin, scars and all. Your hands slide over his back, over more muscle and warmth. 

His hipbones jut out and are, you discover when his teeth bite down hard on your neck, quite sensitive. He distracts you yet again from your travels and you take a moment instead to revel in this find. His powerful hips rock against you, moving the water as you trace figure-eights into them. 

“Does that feel good?” It’s meant seriously, you’d like to hear him. 

“Yeah,” Arthur chokes, his mouth’s off your neck for only a second. 

You find yourself considering that future that doesn’t seem to scare you all of a sudden. The thought of going about your tasks at camp with a mark from Arthur’s teeth just under your collar makes you shiver involuntarily. He pulls away again. 

“You cold?” He looks concerned, searching your face. You shake your head. 

“No, I was just---” your smile is flirtatious, there shouldn’t be any secrets now, after all. “I was just thinking about what it’ll be like tomorrow.”

“How do you mean?” He’s worried again, so easy to fluster. One hand strays from his hip, you take his cock in a loose fist. Arthur inhales sharply but that’s the only indication you’ve done anything at all. 

“I mean I was thinking about catching your eye tomorrow morning, just as you leave,” you stroke him slowly, the only sound is his heavier breaths and the slight rippling of dark water. He’s half-hard already, discouraged by the cold but you seek to warm him again. “and we’ll be the only two people to know that you covered me in love-bites.”

Arthur’s reserved, still refusing the vulnerability that pokes at his heart. But he exhales a breath he was holding and his cock twitches in your hand. He likes the sound of that, no denying it. You, standing next to Pearson with that loving look in your eyes while everyone else is unaware. His hands at your breasts are more insistent as they travel lower. His grip is firm but hardly careless. 

It isn’t a challenge to know what he wants, his fingers dip beneath the water and grab for your hips. You’ll still be able to feel him tomorrow, you just know it. 

“You wanna be marked up?” He asks the same way you did, wanting a response just to hear the sound of your voice. 

“Yes, I need that.” It’s certainly an admission, you almost feel embarrassed until you see the look in his face. 

It’s lust, no mistaking it. You’re momentarily stunned still when he reaches for your inner thigh. Hooking it around his waist, Arthur frees his hand and proceeds to give you exactly what you need. 

His mouth latches on to your shoulder, taking your skin between his teeth. It’s hard to stay upright for very long, with his fingers exploring new regions. You rely on him for support once more and you throw one arm around his neck. 

Your eyes squeeze shut when his middle finger presses against your clit. It’s a sparking sensation, one that has you tensing and relaxing in his arms. Arthur holds you up, aware despite your continued ministrations that the danger of falling is real. 

You stroke him, he rubs at you. As much as you were expecting something quick and messy, you’re glad for this languid pace. It sets the right tone. He’s correct, you don’t know him as well as others but you’d very much like to. 

The two of you lapse back into comfortable silence and quiet stimulation, the only sound is your soft hiss when Arthur sinks a thick finger inside you. 

“That nice?” He asks, you can tell by his voice that he’s grinning and happy to please. 

“Oh, yes,” you reply, no holding back now. “more,” and you aren’t afraid to ask for it. Like you expect, he gives it right away. 

Arthur’s not a fool, you can tell. He neglects no aspect, putting what you imagine to be a wealth of experience to good use. You wonder with a smile if he’s trying to impress you, to show you his worth in this way especially. It’s not wholly necessary, but thoroughly appreciated. 

He’s rewarded with a chorus of quiet noises next to his ear. His fingers curl in you, brushing somewhere wonderful with almost no hassle. Armed with the knowledge of what you need, Arthur sets his sights on making you come. 

“Wait,” you whisper, you can’t help the feeling of guilt. His teeth leave your shoulder. “I’m going to---”

“Already?” He teases, but you can tell it isn’t cruelly meant. “Go on, then. Lemme hear it,” 

You shiver again, biting down hard on your lip. His name leaves you instead of the scream of pleasure that bubbles in your throat. The muscles in his shoulder tense hard, telling you he enjoyed that almost as much as you. 

Going slightly limp against his front, Arthur shifts and takes his hand away from between your legs. As much as you’re aware that a brief recovery period is in order, you keep a firm grip on his cock and guide it in the right direction. 

“Your turn,” you say with a tired sort of affection. 

“And yours again, if I got anythin’ to say about it.” He assures you, accepting that this is what you want to give him and foregoing any concern. You’re ready, you want him more than ever. 

The head of his cock pushes inside you and you’re quick to steady yourself against him. Arthur’s dependable in a lot of different ways, you knew it already but he’s taken his chance to prove it in the flesh. One of your hands snakes up to his now-mussed hair, your palm to the back of his head. 

He wastes no time in moving, rocking his hips forward while you push yours down to greet him. His technique is more than passable, in your opinion, fixated on filling you in an extremely satisfying way. You’ve already had your fun, most men wouldn’t bother to give you more. 

Or maybe you just haven’t met the right men. Arthur’s hips never snap, never buck hard enough to bruise your cervix. He’s gentle, careful with his roughness in a way that’s familiar. 

It feels good, extremely good and it’s only heightened when he remembers to pay attention to other areas. His middle finger tracing circles against the little bud of nerves has you spasming, wondering how you ever settled for less with him right in front of you. 

The back-and-forth of kindness and restraint hasn’t gone on long enough. Arthur’s perfect and you can’t help but feel you still didn’t realize it soon enough. But you have him now, you suppose. Just as he has you. 

“You have to be magic,” you mumble, clenching around him as the second wave of warmth passes over your belly. Maybe your legs go numb, you’re not really paying attention. 

It’s a quick affair after such drawn-out foreplay, but you’re happy that you can make him groan as he does. He touches his forehead against yours, a gesture that sends your racing heart into dangerous territory. 

He’s quite sweet, you think, in his own ways. 

“Gonna---” he stutters, pulling himself from you. His hand disappears below the water, finishing off what you started hours ago. 

There’s a comfortable stillness that follows, punctured by twin sets of laboured breaths. You’re certainly placated and he looks to be as well. 

Slowly, he begins to detangle himself from you. You unhook your leg and your arms fall back to your sides. There’s not much distance between you, but Arthur’s initial response is to remove himself. 

“Come on,” you tell him before he can turn away. “let’s go for a swim.” 

Arthur nods, swallowing thickly. He lets you take his hand, walking out further into the water until it’s too deep to stand. He keeps close to you, even when you let him go again. 

You turn onto your back, floating lazily and gazing up at the stars. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him watching you. 

“What would you’ve done if I wasn’t up for another round?” You ask. Arthur pushes his hair back away from his eyes. 

“Dunno. Would’ve made do, I guess. But---” he cuts himself off, still concerned with what he’s willing to reveal. “ain’t ever met a girl who minded comin’ twice.” 

You laugh at that, louder than he’s used to. He could live and die a happy man in that sound, Arthur realizes. 

“Guess that’s true. You were good, very attentive.” The praise is sincere but it takes you by surprise how he glows under it. 

“Thank you kindly,” he swims a little closer to you, reaching out. You’re soon wrapped up in his arms again. “good enough to have again?” Like he has to ask. It occurs to you he searches for more praise, why on earth would you deny him? 

“Oh yes. More than good enough to keep around for a while, Arthur.” You look at him, watching how he smiles under the light of the moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ta-da, the finale! thank you to everyone who's commented, left kudos or otherwise interacted with this fic. i had so much fun!!


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